• ''What a horrible stench.''

    ''Suck it up, Yegor.''

    ''And why is the floor so damn sticky?''

    ''I told you to suck it up and stay quiet!''

    ''Artem, come on. They probably gave up the search a long time ago. We've been here for 6 hours.''

    Their voices whispered in a room which was covered in a veil of darkness, the only source of light being a beam of sunlight slipping through a small porthole in the metal door and its weathered, almost broken hinges. The weak light made it possible to see a thin outline of two men in the room's darkness. Artem, one of the men, took a deep breath and sighed. The plastic stock of what appeared to be an AK-74 in his hand scraped against the concrete floor as he brought it up to reload and turn the safety off.

    ''Alright. I'm going to check our surroundings. If I don't return within 5 minutes, it means I'm caught. Be sure to bring my share of the loot to my family.'' Artem said, extending his arm to Yegor to shake hands. Then, sudden footsteps sounded and the light entering through the porthole would be blocked. The same second, a man rammed his combat boots into the door, slamming it open. A K-9 dog jumped into the room and started shredding away at Yegor. Artem quickly turned to the man and fell to his side, lifting up his AK-74 with one hand, squeezing the trigger. He fired a salvo into the man, and then hurled himself at the dog, wrestling it off Yegor before stabbing it multiple times in its throat with a pocket knife.

    With the door wide open, enough light shone into the room to discern the faces of Artem and Yegor. Artem was older than Yegor. He donned a short beard beneath his black/white ornamented bandana which he pulled down to his neck after turning to Yegor to see the damage caused by the dog. He also wore a thin, navy bomber jacket with its hood pulled over his head. Thin locks of his lanky hair drooped over his sweaty forehead. His wrinkled face gested to Yegor that everything would be alright.

    It would not be alright.

    The dog had gone for Yegor's neck, having pulverized and ripped apart most of his throat. Blood spew about from his neck, only slightly stopped by his hands holding a thin cloth tightly against the wounds. Yegor was much younger and had a less blemished face. His brown, dark eyes stared into Artem's brown irides and then his pupil. He squinted his eyes, exhaled deeply and dropped his head to the ground.

    ''Goddammit. Yegor! We were almost there...'' He groaned and rammed his clenched fists down the now dead man's chest. He stuck his hand into a pouch hanging from his shoulder, and got out a 2 liter bottle containing a clear fluid. He unscrewed the cap and emptied the fluid over Yegor's dead body. He got out a matchbox, lit a match and threw it on the body, which would cause the fluid to combust in a glowing white, fierce fire which engulfed most of the room. Artem then picked up a bag near the exit and started to run for it. The outside was a small field with high grass surrounded by many high buildings. He ran into an adjacent alleyway which would lead him to what appeared to be a dead end; a high, concrete wall span from the lateral buildings. Artem swiftly brought up his AK-74 and aimed at whence he came from. He heard the chattering of many footsteps and the shouting of orders, so he knew he had very little time. It would be a shootout, and it was either him or them.
    A drop of sweat rolled down his cheek and rolled down onto the black bandana with white patterns, slightly soaking it. His arched, fuzzy eyebrows made his dead-tired, sclerotic eyes look menacing. His stressed mood wrinkled his visage even more. His narrowed pupil enveloped by his brown iris stared through the ironsights of the AK-74, the plastic stock of it pressed tightly onto his sweaty cheek through his bandana. Gritting his teeth he started to growl and scream through his closed mouth, the sound of which increasing and decreasing in volume at intervals as he took deep breaths. His eyes filled up, glistening in the single sunray that managed to make its way through between the two buildings creating the alleyway.

    And then, silence.

    The same light that was shining on his face and caused his eyes to glisten, also shone upon him exactly a year ago. But a year ago- he wasn't clad in dirty, ripped cargo pants with patches of mud and blood and a torn bulletproof vest beneath a thick, navy blue bomber jacket.

    Back then,

    The soft, yet rigid and quality texture of his black tuxedo only reflected a miniscule fraction of the fierce sunlight that shone upon him. His complexion was less erratic at the time, he was better groomed with a short beard and neatly brushed hair with slight incorporation of hair gel. Thick framed, black sunglasses obscured his eyes and protected them from the strong sunlight. His fast-paced walk towards the entrance of a large corporate building radiated confidence. He stepped into the building and was greeted with a sudden, cool breeze. Like a stream of ice cold water on a red hot steel surface, you could say.

    The inside of the hallway was lit by only a row of dim lights enveloped in paperweights on each adjacent wall.

    ''Artem Anatoliy, I guess?'' frolicked a man wearing a black turtle neck sweater and beige chinos, his arms spread wide open as he calmly walked over to the bearded man.

    Artem took off the thick-framed black sunglasses and collapsed it by its hinges, letting it dangle from his breast pocket. The neatly drawn Kohl on his lower eyelids' upper edge extended like two two-dimensional, symmetric extremities from his black eyes, the brown of his iride obfuscated by the room's absence of sufficient luminescence.

    ''Yes. That is me. And I guess you are Markan Produ?'' said Artem. Although he was well-spoken and elegant when it came to the use of the English language, weak traces of Middle Eastern accent and features could be perceived.

    ''Mr. Produ is waiting for you at the second floor, room X-156. He will then guide you to your living quarter and your office.'' Said the man who gave no information regarding his own name, only allowing Artem to pass the hallway with his arms swiftly motioning towards the stairwell and elevator.

    ''Living quarter?'' Said Artem, a hint of confusion slapped across his face.

    ''Please be prompt in meeting Mr.Produ. He will answer any questions you may have.'' Said the man.

    Artem took a deep breath; he was in a far too good mood at the moment to actually care about minor things. It was still rather confusing to him, however. He'd work for 8 hours a day in the job he was offered, and then he would return home. That's what they told him. The pay was good, health insurance was included, and he'd receive a vehicle on the company's name. The hours he was to work weren't tiring nor too much. In the job application, he hadn't even heard of the word ''living quarter''. Perhaps it was a recent renovation?

    He walked up the stairwell to the second floor. The stairwell itself had a simplistic yet radiant design, not any different from the other parts of the building. After stepping foot into the second floor and making his way towards room X-156. The hallway leading to the room was rather 'casual' in contrast to the building's dark, gloomy atmosphere as perceived from the outside and ground floor. On top of an African hardwood floor a long rug was laid out, vases of flowers running along its length. There were, however, a plethora of security cameras scattered around, their slow, preying-esque rotating sending an uneasy chill down Artem's spine.